THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME Written by Shaun Goldsmith Based on the short story By Richard Connell C/O Pen Name Productions 4156 Westlock Common 905-634-7025
[email protected] SUPER: “THERE IS NO HUNTING LIKE THE HUNTING OF MAN AND THOSE WHO HAVE HUNTED ARMED MEN LONG ENOUGH, AND LIKED IT, NEVER REALLY CARED FOR ANYTHING ELSE THEREAFTER.” ERNEST HEMINGWAY. FADE IN: EXT. AN ISLAND - DAY Abruptly juts from the sea. Ringed by sharp rocks. Tall cliffs. Inland, high mountains covered in lush, green jungle poke through blankets of mist. EXT. JUNGLE Sun barely pierces the triple canopy. Thick vines dangle above dense foliage below. Alive with CHATTERING monkeys and SQUAWKING birds. Suddenly, the underbrush sways. All NOISE STOPS. A RUSTLING and a MAN bursts through. Running. Sweating. Panting. Eyes wide. This is GONSALVO (25). Almond skin. Torn shirt and pants. Scruffy. A silver cross dangles from his neck. Trees pass in a blur. He looks around to SEE if anyone follows. Doesn’t notice the root before him, pushing up through the ground. He trips on it. Falls hard. Looks around. Nearby, a tree stump, Quickly, he crawls behind it. Chest heaving. Wheezing. Rubs his ankle. Winces. Closes his eyes. EXT. JUNGLE - NOT FAR AWAY A GLOVED HAND moves a vine aside. A FIGURE clad in black, sleekly steps forward. He’s tall. Slender. Moves swiftly. Holds a hunting rifle. A sheathed sword slung over his back. Face hidden. Swathed in mosquito netting. Beneath it, dark eyes search the jungle. This is ZAROFF. We’ll see more of him later.